


Help me find my way home to you

by straightouttapopstar



Category: Fire Emblem Heroes, Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Seisen no Keifu | Fire Emblem: Genealogy of the Holy War
Genre: Arvis is one rebellious boy, M/M, Sigurd’s just trying to help yanno, angst ofc, hi my name is roz and I love making up bad arvisigurd aus thank you, it becomes Real Brand Value Fluff™️ later on tho, tw: cutting and suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-25
Updated: 2018-06-25
Packaged: 2019-05-27 21:01:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,010
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15033239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/straightouttapopstar/pseuds/straightouttapopstar
Summary: I feel them kneel on the ground and put their hand in mine. When I lift my head, I see his comforting blue hair. I recognize him at once. He’s here. I’m safe. The person that solely prevents me from perishing is here.Albeit he is almost in tears.





	Help me find my way home to you

**Author's Note:**

> I’m sorry for dirtying this nice ship w bad aus but it had to be done  
> I hope you enjoy nonetheless....at least I’m providing some sort of content, so that counts  
> (This actually started as a weird vent-fic that I remade a little. The more you know) (and no, the writer does not engage in any practices that Arvis deems ‘normal’, please don’t worry haha)  
> (tw: cutting and suicide mentions)

I can’t hear them. I’m telling myself I can’t hear them.

But they’re there, behind the doors, trying to work it out. Attempting to support me, even though they can go to hell with their support. It’s useless, futile, just as the health services trying to keep me alive.

I don’t think I can hear what they’re saying—possibly discussing some sort of detainment for me, alternative ways to prevent me from self-destructing? There are no subtitles and the speech is muffled beyond recognition, like an ancient film dug out of dusty cinema archives no one bothers to visit anymore.

Then, someone comes into the hospital room—and all goes silent. No one speaks again. It’s peaceful save for the person’s steps.

I somewhat feel that I can’t face them. I begin telling myself that it isn’t guilt—it’s amusement. It’s all a laugh at the people who are trying to keep me alive.

I feel them kneel on the ground and put their hand in mine. When I lift my head, I see his comforting blue hair. I recognize him at once. He’s here. I’m safe. The person that solely prevents me from perishing is here.

Albeit he is almost in tears.

“H-Hey. I can’t believe I’m seeing you here...is it the fifth time this month? And it’s only been a week since July ended”—his voice sounds like utter suffering, it’s impossible to not hear that. Like he’s being tortured for the hundredth time and just can’t bear it anymore. It breaks several times at every syllable, rising and falling in pitch unnaturally.

I can’t reply. My heart hurts, even though I don’t see a reason for it to—and I refuse to reply, apathetically sighing and looking everywhere but at his face.

He tries to laugh nervously to offset the tense atmosphere, but even that sound slowly dies down as minutes tick by.

“Is it cutting again?”

Just what _did_ you expect?

“Please don’t tell me it’s cutting—Arvis, you really can’t continue like this—“

“I damn well can if I want to. And I will. You can’t stop me.”

Even though his tears begin to fall and I start feeling remorseful for my actions somewhat, I can’t choke out a word—but he can. Barely.

“How c-can you say that! You almost lost your body’s supply of blood! You fool! What are you trying to achieve?!”

“Death. Suffering. Temporary escapism and the like”—I answer flatly, and see his lips form into a twisted scowl I cannot possibly recognize as his.

As he tries to wipe his tears away with his pure, unblemished hospital sleeves, he glares at the floor in disgust—“how can you say this so _casually_...how can you just continue? Does it not hurt? What about your family!”

“Family? My daddy’s kicked the bucket. Ages ago, did it himself. Mother died of a heart attack two months ago. Azelle is at his wits’ end by now, and he cares little for my meaningless whims. Does it really seem like anybody wants to keep me alive?”—I try to get out of this verbal corner, giving my words little thought and listing everything one after another.

Still kneeling on the ground, his crying intensifies, and his tears are starting to form a little transparent pool under our feet. I don’t try to appreciate his efforts at all—I don’t want to think he cares. He’s only doing this because he’s part of the hospital staff. He just wants the money. He’s arrogant, like everyone else in this world. My mind continues to go off on various tangents about him and I listen intently, eager to study my inner monologues.

“Look, Arvis, _I_ want to keep you alive.”

Suddenly, I burst out in laughter, taking out a pocket knife from my tattered burgundy hoodie, and I begin to examine it from every angle, much to Sigurd’s shock.

“You’re lying to yourself. You don’t. You are just here because they’ve called you to deal with me for the thousandth time now. You just wanna get this over with and leave me, as usual. Admit it—you’re bored of me now. You’d rather I died—“

“I would never! Can you hear me? **NEVER!** ”—and with no prior warning, he slaps me across the face in absolute fury. As I fall backwards onto the bed due to the impact, only then does he start to consider what he had done.

He apologizes.

And my face hurts still—but his sincerity and kind voice manages to ease a little of the pain.

“Oh Naga...Arvis, are you alright?! Arvis, sweetie, that was an accident, I didn’t mean to...oh Naga help me, that was a horrible mistake!”

“N-No, Sigurd, hey, s’alright. I’ve gone through worse pains.”

“Don’t even dare to tell me about them. Are you confident you’re okay? Let me inspect your cheek...”—and his hand almost manages to touch my face, but I push it away without bad intent.

“Stop worryin’ like a housewife. I’m fine.”

“Alright...can you show me what you did today?”

Of course, he meant the cutting—and so, I nonchalantly take off my hoodie, revealing a bare chest and at least fourty different cuts across my arms. I’m happy that at least they no longer hurt as before.

Sigurd is nowhere near as joyous as I am.

“Holy—Arvis, just what _is_ this?”—he worriedly asks, his face almost drained of all the little colour he had until that moment.

“Cuts. With a knife”—I reply matter-of-factly, as if the display I had on my arm was the most normal thing in the world. Sigurd didn’t find it so normal, however.

“Dear Naga, I think I’m going to faint...please tell me—why?”

“Eh, it gives me relief, I guess. By now, I think s’kind of an addiction though.”

Gathering his cute little first aid kit, he nods his head in disapproval at my deadly antics. Sitting beside me, he puts his hand out and places it on my own.

His touch feels gentle and warm. I don’t even think my mother had ever given me a similar sign of care and affection. It feels...rather _lovely_. Sigurd is now smiling through his former tears, which raises my mood a little. It is apparent that he is the only one who can cheer me up with no problem, as a smile begins to tug at the corners of my lip too.

As he applies a sanitized cotton bud to my cuts to cleanse them, he begins to endlessly lament about the incident—“I am so sorry, Arvis. As a healthcare professional, I should definitely not have harmed you like that...my apologies. My purpose is to heal and comfort, not worsen your injuries.”

“Sigurd, it’s fine. Seriously, chill. I’m still living, right? Well, maybe not for long, but—“

“ _Arvis!_ Stop saying that!”

“Okay okay!”

Besides having his eyes all over my face, body and also my hair, he manages to strike up small talk with me, and ask me how I feel. As we converse, I can sense his consideration for myself—and I realize that he is the first person I’ve ever met that cares whether I’ll live on the streets tomorrow, and whether I’ll have anything to eat. He cares whether I’m happy, healthy, living, breathing, clothed. He cares.

And he sure is a talkative man, so we speak for a little longer to pass the time. His voice seems to mitigate the pain I feel from my wounds, and so I actively engage in the conversation, feeling his smile just completely erase all negativity around me.

“So then, my aunt told him to wait because she had something for him and—“

“Wait—Sigurd?”

“Hm?”

“Is this care?”

“...What?”—he looks at me as if I had come from a different galaxy, and he stops treating my wounds for a moment.

I begin to grow nervous, even though I have no idea why. Perhaps it’s because I feel horribly exposed, both physically and mentally. And because Sigurd has been excessively eyeing my chest for whatever reason.

“Like, what you are doing right now—is this because you care for me?”

The man feels at a loss on how to answer my question—but when he finally comes to, he smiles absentmindedly at my hand, his thoughts somewhere else, his face reddening and whispers—“Yes.”

Without thinking, I immediately pull my hand out of his, and he jumps in the spot at my impulsive movement.

Nervous laughter erupts from inside of me to fill the silence with something.

“Hey, n-none of this! Let’s not be homo, Sigurd. Haha, please stop.”

Suddenly, Sigurd realizes what I mean and he averts his eyes at the floor, giggling pathetically at, presumably, himself. Then, I begin to feel bad—what if Sigurd actually feels something for me? And I just gave him the wrong sign completely? It’s not like I don’t like Sigurd...and the fact that he is the only one who cares only pushes me towards him.

He probably has had a crush on me for the last few months since he started nursing me every time I was stupid enough to end up in A&E and I never noticed.

Yeah, I am a fool—especially when I see Sigurd gather his little first aid kit and put it away bashfully but quickly. He’s eager to flee the room—but I’m eager to keep him, as I grab his hospital coat and stop him in his tracks.

“Hey, Sigurd!”

“Y-Yes? It’s fine if you want to change your hospital attendant. Next time you visit, you’ll have a different person assisting with your wounds—“

“Actually? No”—I assert rather loudly, so loudly that the poor man flinches—“I really don’t want anybody else but you.”

“Arvis—!”

“It’s the wish of the patient. You wish to undermine the will of the suffering patient, Sigurd?”

“N-No, I wouldn’t dare.”

“Exactly”—but seeing that one word doesn’t really repair the entire situation, I begin to rapidly grasp for more words to explain myself—“And I’m sorry—I didn’t mean to say that. I guess I kinda panicked when I noticed you getting close to me, since I’ve never ever had anybody this close. You’re...you’re really like family to me, Sigurd.”

I no longer have to pull on his coat to make him turn around and face me again. When he finally faces me and sees me smile for the first time ever, it’s almost as if he’s getting possessed or having an out-of-body experience in the damn hospital room.

“I’m like family to you? R-Really?”

I feel a surge of confidence. Yes, Sigurd is like family to me. He’s someone I want to treasure and keep safe. And I want to show that to him.

“Totally, and”—swiftly pulling a pen out of my back pocket and taking off the lid with my teeth, I quickly scribble down my number on the palm of his hand—“I’d love to talk to you more. Even though I’m a damn lonely tramp without a family, I’d appreciate a friend. Or more than a friend, if you want.”

He looks at the scribble on his hand incredulously as I silently curse my damned horrible handwriting—but his reaction is priceless.

He just smiles.

“I really don’t know what to say, Arvis...thank you! Although you may be a tramp, you’re a tramp who I love with my entire heart.”

Even though the criticism hurts, it hurts less now because I know he doesn’t mean it. All he means is that he cares—and that’s all I need to survive from that point on. Even though he’ll still see me a few times this week, I bet, I’m sure that he’ll be able to raise me better than my own parents did if he puts enough effort into it. He will show me what it means to love existence, and appreciate life.

I love you too, Sigurd.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you enjoyed :> leave a kudo/comment to encourage me to make even more rubbish aus for this ship  
> thank you for reading!!! toodles


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